


Lesson 2. I do not suck dick, even for Jesus.

by girlsloveyaoi



Series: The Lesson Series [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 08:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2263695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsloveyaoi/pseuds/girlsloveyaoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No! No, you tell me like I just said it! You tell me you won’t suck my dick, even on fucking Christmas!”</p><p>It was comical in a way, how flushed and furious his son was. He tapped Connor on the nose, using the other hand to ruffle his hair as he met furious eyes. “I don’t suck dick, not even for Jesus. And I never, ever will. ” He continued tapping his nose with each word. “Never. Ever. Ever.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lesson 2. I do not suck dick, even for Jesus.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Endee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endee/gifts).



> I do apologize it took so long to post this! I received a request via tumblr for an upload of the next chapter a /while/ ago, and I do apologize, I am off training for my new job and it's been a little hectic as I get acquainted with the new working hours (M-F, from 8-4:30 instead of 6:30-4 on weekends and 3-10 Monday, Wednesday and Friday). A lot of rescheduling to do, but I'm getting a wee bit better at it!
> 
> To Vindication readers, new and old, or for people reading this fic for the first time, thank you. The support is phenomenal, and I know it has been a long while since a chapter has been submitted but things are looking up! The story has definitely not been abandoned, and frankly, new developments regarding plot have been made that will make it better than we anticipated. Our hope is to incorporate the new members of the Assassin and Templar families into the mix. As for the plot, well, you'll have to wait and see. As always, thank you for the support and enjoy!

He’d done it before, just not often. And naturally, never with his father. But it was Christmas, and who wouldn’t want one? Besides, turnabout was fair play…and he sure wouldn’t mind being on the receiving end of what Haytham considered to be ‘fair play’.

It’s why he approached him, much earlier than he normally would have. The Wall Street journal and cup of tea graced his fathers’ hands as he entered their living room.

“Morning dad.”

“Mm.” At least he hadn’t said good morning. Connor sat by his feet, watching him read.

“Uhm…Merry Christmas.”

Silence, and Haytham met his son's expectant gaze, blinking. Okayyyyy? “…To you as well.” There, see? He spoke. He filled his morning quota. Now let him read in silence.

“You’re in a pleasant mood, yeah dad?”

Son of a- no, that would insult Ziio. He didn’t look up from his paper, patience nonexistent before nine a.m. “No more so than usual.” So leave me alone. That was the unspoken undertone. Maybe telepathic brain waves could permeate his son's thick skull, his demeanor –for whatever reason- could not. Honestly, who the hell had a conversation at seven in the morning?

“Oh.”

And then there was silence. Ah, sweet silence. Haytham lifted his paper to read-

“You…you doing a crossword puzzle?”

Teeth grit as grey eyes rolled. “Can’t get anything past you this morning, huh lad?” Except for, you know, the desire to have him shut the hell up until nine. ‘Dur are you doing a crossword puzzle dad?’ Oh he could back hand him.

“Uh, is-is it a newer one?”

“No, Connor. It’s from five days ago. I keep old newspapers for fun.” A blink, and Connor bit his lip.

“…Oh. What kind of- ”

“The Wall Street Journal. Jesus, it says so on the top of the paper. You’re a regular tack this morning.” For fucks sakes, what a dingus! ‘What newspaper was it?!' It said it on the cover! Besides, had he ever read anything other than the New York Times or Wall Street Journal at any point for the past fifteen or so years?

Connor was a sharp as crayon. A crayon that wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

“…Is it a difficult puzzle-“

“Only when certain, nameless individuals keep blabbering nonsensical, bothersome dribble at this early in the morning.” Connor blinked, before shutting his mouth, nervously fiddling. It went unnoticed, Haytham too busy seething. Go away. Go away and shut up, and don’t return unless the house is on fire or you’re choking. Haytham might give him the Heimlich in that case.

Emphasis on might.

A moment or two passed, Connor still fidgeting, and Haytham’s temper finally receded some, eyes scanning over the puzzle again. Until-

“So… uhm. The-the weather is fair, yeah?”

The weather?

Really, Connor? A conversation about what… clouds?

Haytham snapped, lips pursed. “It’s well below freezing, hailing, and there’s black ice everywhere. Doesn’t get much fairer if you enjoy cars sliding across the road, in peril, to meet an icy demise. What a wonderful sense of humor you’ve acquired.”

“I-I didn’t mean it like-“

“Stop talking. Just stop.”

Connor stammered, fiddling with his thumbs before leaving to clamor about the kitchen, bravery slipping away by leaps and bounds.

Haytham could only glare at his retreating back, refocusing on the paper. This was why he wasn’t polite. Connor –for some unfathomable reason-wanted to talk now. In the morning, no less. He would not stand for this injustice.

Haytham didn’t want to talk. He wanted caffeine. And reading glasses. Like hell if he’d succumb to his age and buy a pair, but he could barely see the crossword puzzle, nor concentrate with the continuous babble.

If anyone else bothered him constantly, his spoon would have punctured their ear drum long ago. Truth be told, he had feelings for his dolt of a son.

Damn it, they were making him soft.

Some loud clattering, and Connor tripped on some imaginary element on his way back. Haytham wearily watched him stir his coffee as he sat back down. Noisily.

…So noisily.

Clack.

…Too noisily.

Clack.

His eye twitched.

Clack.

His teeth ground.

Clack.

God damn it, Connor!

“Lad-“

Lost in thought, Connor removed the spoon from his coffee, eyes elsewhere as he licked it. And sucked it, like a… ugh. Bother. It was vulgar, really, just vulgar, his tongue lapping at the underside of the spoon, lips sucking on the cool metal. He was orally fixated. Connor constantly sucked on pens, cutlery, even the tip of his finger. A poor habit indeed. Haytham had the urge to tell him to stop.

But he couldn’t find his voice. Not as his son met his eyes, a surprise flush growing across his cheeks. He yanked the spoon from his mouth, blinking rapidly as a string of saliva broke and melded with his lips. Of course he’d stammer before licking it up with a curve of tongue…

That boy put everything in his damn mouth.

Haytham grimaced, folding his leg over the other. Well, there was one thing the lad wouldn’t suck. Namely the hardening anaconda of a cock in a certain Haytham’s pajama bottoms.

And that served to irritate him as Connor further stammered. “Uh, so, uhm…”

“Connor?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m reading.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.” A pause, but Connor didn’t leave. Nope, still tongue fucking that stupid spoon. Fuck that spoon. He hated that spoon. He hated Connor's stupid fucking tongue too. Always licking, slurping, wetting, twirling.

“Connor just go aw-“

“Iwannagiveyouhead!”

A blink, then silence. Complete silence. Connor flushed and averted his eyes. Well, this was worth putting his paper down for.

“Repeat that.”

His voice hit a new pitch of heightened unmanliness. “Iwannagiveyouhead?”

Is that why he’d been acting this way? Like a little nervous dolt? Had he known that, he might’ve been easier on the lad. He could hardly hear him as it was though. Haytham’s throat cleared, fingers raising Connor’s chin. Connor let him, face red.

“Slower, lad.” Please tell him he didn’t need a hearing aid, please tell him he didn’t need a hearing aid… he was old but damn it, the glasses he secretly needed were enough of a taunt!

“I would, maybe like to try… ya know.” Connor flushed, biting the spoon. “H-head. On you, I mean.”

“As opposed to someone else?” His smirk was met with a frown, and Connor looking at the tile. “It’s not funny.” He had a point, it wasn’t. Haytham should accept the surprise gift without question and thank him later. It was just very… sudden.

No, Haytham. Haytham, NO. Don’t ask, Haytham. His mind caterwauled. You shouldn’t ask, you shouldn’t care how the lad made his decision. Accept the gift and let it be!

… If only he were that simple.

“A nice gesture, Connor. Is there reasoning to it?”

Connor fidgeted, placing his coffee down. His eyes remained averted. “Cuz, I mean it’s Christmas.” Haytham waited, blinking.

“Soooooo?”

“Ya know, presents, gifts. The whole tradition thing.”

“Yes, I’m aware of it, lad. Just as I’m sure you’re aware that we don’t celebrate it.”

“Yeah, I know…” Damn, it sounded like he was trying to talk Connor out of it. It wasn’t the case, by a long shot. He simply needed an informed, proper decision. He wouldn’t do this on a whim.

“I just… wanted to do something nice? I don’t know.” Shrugging dejectedly, Connor sighed. “I didn’t have cash to get you something.”

Ah. Haytham frowned. “That’s rather dubious consent, lad.”

“What?” Realizing what he said, his head shook in embarrassment. “No, no it’s… you wanted one. You’ve asked and it’s… I mean, I want to. To try.”

A skeptical eye brow raised, and Haytham sighed. “What you described is borderline prostitution-”

Of course that got him an angry glare and Connor abruptly stood up. “Oh, great, so now I’m a prostitute? I offer you something you want, after you’ve been a dick all morning, and you call me a prostitute. Nice, real fuckin’ nice, you douche bag.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Haytham followed Connor to their room, foot sliding into the junction of door and wall before Connor could slam it. “Stop twisting my words.”

“You just called me a whore!”

“I did nothing of the sort! I said the exchange of presents for a sexual act does in fact resemble prostitution. Surely even you can see the connection.”

“Even I? Oh so now I’m a stupid hoe!” Oh for the love of... Haytham opened the door as Connor walked away, climbing into his bed and stuffing his face into a pillow. “Get out, dad.”

“I will not. You are being ridiculous.”

“I’m being ridiculous?!” His muffled voice cut through the pillow, dark eyes glaring as Haytham stood by their night stand. “I offer you something you want and you call me a stupid whore for it, and I’m ridiculous?”

“You’re trying my patience and twisting my words, boy.” The blanket was yanked from him, Haytham glowering back. “I don’t want you doing something you’ll regret just to please me. I need to know your rational, your assessment before I concede.” Brown eyes glared back, though there was curiosity in his eyes.

“Why does it matter to you? So what if I ‘regret’ it, it’s my choice to make.” An eye twitch and Haytham stared at him wordlessly. Fine, fine! He’d say it.

“I have feelings of affection towards you and would rather not see you pained from a well-meaning transgression. This need not be simply an act but rather a…” He waved his hand grandly, thinking. “…an enjoyable event worth repeating rather than one acted out from desperation for attention or the need to please.”

A blink and Connor looked at him, wordlessly. “I have no idea what any of what you just said means. Like, at all.” And Haytham face palmed. Hard. So hard his brain jostled, creating a simplified version of the sentence.

“… I don’t want you to feel obligated. I am fond of you, and will continue to remain so regardless of your decision.”

“Oh.”

“Brilliant response.”

“… you’re fond of me?”

Haytham blinked, an eyebrow raised. “No, I let you steal my covers every night and pay your bills because it’s fun.”

Connor frowned before his mouth twitched. “So you like me?”

Grey-blue eyes twitched. “… If you are to simplify it, then yes.”

“What, you… you more than like me?”

“Boy, why do you sound so incredulous?”

“I just thought you hated me sometimes.” Connor shrugged. “At least you sometimes act like you do.”

Haytham stared, wide eyed. “I hate being spoken to at seven in the morning. I hate how you leave your toe nails clippings on the floor. I hate that you can’t make toast.” He took a seat, sighing. “Lad, I don’t hate you. Ever.”

“Oh.”

“Is that why you were going to do this?” Something tightened in his throat, but he fought it.

“What? Oh, no.” Eyes met, Connor shrugging honestly. “… I just wanted to.”

“Ah.” No response. Haytham simply stood, and Connor spoke quickly.

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“…I still want to try it.” They met each others eyes in silence, Haytham studying his son's face.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.”

A darker hand pulled him, Haytham lowering himself over his son slowly. “I don’t hate you.”

“You have Alzheimer’s, old man? I heard you.” Haytham stopped, fingers making little work of Connor’s buttoned top. For a moment they stared at one another, Connor unable to decipher what emotions ran through his father’s face. Such a good poker face. A really handsome poker face.

One that leaned forward and captured his lips in a fierce kiss. A demanding tongue, thoroughly navigating, coaxing his own. Teeth nipped his lips when he didn’t open wide enough. Connor wasn’t one for complete submission, but this wasn’t what this kiss was. He couldn’t name what it was.

Lashes fluttered shut, mouth accepting what was a brutal tongue fucking. His toes curled as fingernails glided over his naked ribs. He clung back just as desperately, lemon and tea on his tongue.

Haytham left him a writhing, panting pile of their sheets in a matter of two minutes. He managed that every time.

“I should accuse you of hating me more often.”

“Shut up Connor.” Another kiss, and Connor did just that, a hardness pressing into his leg. He grinned.

“Someone’s ready.”

A hand gripped his erection, tightly. “I could say the same.” The smirk was evident, even in his voice, and for once Connor didn’t mind. He looked forward to this.

Adjusting positions, Haytham was seated with his back to the head board, Connor between his legs, lying on his stomach. Uncircumcised, thick, long enough for the head to lay on the dip of his navel.

Connor’s tongue traced a vein. A hand tightened in his long hair, urging him onward. Heh, good bye hesitance, hello the Haytham he knew in bed.

“Oh.” Eyes watched every movement, from the moment Connor’s lips descended over the head of his cock and onward. A tongue pressed to his foreskin and lapped. Fingers tightened around the base of him. Another hand massaged his balls.

And the suction, the tight, wet heat slurping its way upward. Lewdly their eyes met, a loud slurp filling the room, along with an unfamiliar noise.

“Ohhh.” Quiet, low, and Connor’s eyes widened.

“Did you just moan?” Like, did he make him moan? Did he just really make his dad moan?!

Haytham’s eye twitched, cheeks covered in a light flush. “Yes.”

They shared a look, before Connor lowered his head again. And plunged his head downward, hard enough to gag.

“Ah!” A hiss through his teeth, knuckles turned white as they clenched long hair. Connor gagged again before forcing himself to relax. Breathing heavily through his nose, he bobbed his head once, then again. The flat of his tongue pressed against the underside of Haytham’s head. He applied suction as he pulled upward, foreskin between his lips, and he made that noise again as he lapped at it, a long groan.

Connor bobbed, licked, nipped, sucked. His cheeks hollowed, his lips cradled, his hands manipulated and worked flesh. Haytham’s own hips thrust forward, and even as he caught Connor off guard he did so again, Connor at first glaring, but even that subsided.

His fingers buried themselves in his son's hair. He pulled his head forward as he thrust up, watching himself disappear between those lips, watching himself snap his own hips to fuck his son’s throat. Another groan, the third one, and Haytham thrust harder, Connor’s face adorned with a flush. Balls tightened. Haytham halted, shutting his eyes. His free arm covered his face as he thrust one last time.

Cum poured down the back of Connor’s throat, a long, single spurt that lasted moments, Haytham only letting go of his hair when he softened considerably. The pop as Connor dismounted was loud between the pants shared in unison.

“So, was it good for you?” Hoarse and throaty, and Haytham actually chuckled at his sons antics, allowing him to rest his head against his shoulder, chests pressed together.

“You could say that.”

Connor paused, before kissing the side of Haytham’s neck. He met a raised eyebrow with a shrug. “What?”

“No proper kiss?”

“You just came in my mouth.”

The eyebrow stayed risen. Connor flushed, before his tongue slipped between his father’s lips. Another thorough kiss and Connor shivered pleasantly, climbing of off his father’s lap to sit against the headboard, expectantly.

Haytham spit into his hand. While the large, calloused appendage normally had appeal, Connor frowned. “Uhm, dad?”

“Mm?”

“Aren’t you going to, you know?” Connor gestured with his head. “Return the favor.”

“I was, until you stopped me.”

But again a hand grabbed him, Connor blinking. “No, no, dad. A blow job. Ya know, I just gave you a blow job.” Teasingly, a finger traced Haytham’s collar bone. “Fair play and all that good stuff?”

Haytham blinked ,the corners of his mouth twitching before he set his hand aside. The rest of him followed soon after.

“Is that why you did this? So I’d reciprocate the action?”

“Well, yeah dad. Turnabout is fair play.”

It bubbled in his chest, Haytham desperately biting his lip. He failed to keep it at bay, and a chortle escaped him, a hand covering his mouth for a moment as he composed himself. Connor frowned, eyes wide. “What?”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken lad.” The grin was plastered across his face. “I don’t offer physical reciprocation of varying oral favors.”

A blink. Another blink, and Connor’s blood ran cold. “Are you… no.” No, no, no! This was not happening, this could not be happening! “ You are not telling me...!”

“Sorry lad.”

The last thing that smug fuck looked was sorry, Connor’s blood boiling. “You don’t fucking give head?!”

“… Not just felatio. I don’t rim nor partake in cunnilingus either.”

Connor stammered. “But it’s fucking Christmas!”

Haytham scoffed. “Why would the birth of some prophetic being lead to my acquiescence to satisfy your need for oral stimulation?”

“… Does that mean you won’t suck my dick?!”

Frowning, Haytham crossed his arms over his chest. “How crude… but yes.”

“Dad, this isn’t funny!” His poor balls were damn near blue, his erection starting to wane, and Haytham just stared at him blankly.

“I’m not laughing, Connor.”

“Look into my eyes, dad. Look into my eyes and tell me you won’t suck my dick.”

Grey-blue eyes rolled, Haytham shaking his head. “I don’t fel-“

“No! No, you tell me like I just said it! You tell me you won’t suck my dick, even on fucking Christmas!”

It was comical in a way, how flushed and furious his son was. He tapped Connor on the nose, using the other hand to ruffle his hair as he met furious eyes. “I don’t suck dick, not even for Jesus. And I never, ever will. ” He continued tapping his nose with each word. “Never. Ever. Ever.”

The table was the first thing Connor flipped over before storming out of the room. Haytham didn’t bother to follow, Connor would clean the mess later. Besides he rather felt like taking a long, relaxing nap.

Felatio often had that effect on him.


End file.
